


Histrionic

by RhetoricFemme



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Dreams, Gen, Jean Kirschstein - Freeform, M/M, Marco Bodt - Freeform, Reincarnation, canon dreams, implied future jeanmarco, jeanmarco, just glimpses, maybe i'll write little followup ficlets to this, maybe? - Freeform, sleeping in class
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-03-09 12:17:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3249380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RhetoricFemme/pseuds/RhetoricFemme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean's got a lucid dream that just won't leave him alone, and this time it's managed to catch up with him in class.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Histrionic

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Thanks for reading this little thing. I don't know if there will be a follow up; I've been into writing ficlets lately and this one made me happy. So here I am to share.
> 
> Enjoy!

One would think his mind would offer some sense of direction—a hint of why, at least—if it insisted on dreaming him into such inescapable places.

It’s the sound of muscle tearing, sinew peeling away from the bone as he tries not to breath in the acrid scent of comrade blood that stains unfathomable teeth.

There’s the release of a trigger pulled by his own finger; what it’s meant to do, Jean has no idea, but within seconds he’s flying, midair in a tangle of hot chaos as everywhere around him is peppered with debris and blood.

Suddenly, there is the saving grace shimmer of windows on the peripheral, and he’s veering left without a second thought. The move doesn’t feel impulsive so much as by inherent calculation, and his chest fills with relief as he tucks into himself in time to take the brunt of the window’s broken glass that rains around him.

The others aren’t far behind, he knows, and Jean looks expectantly from the small room in time to greet the desperate silhouette heading his way.

His heart falls, terrified. It’s not enough.

Desperate limbs angle for entry, and it becomes a promise unkept as grotesque knuckles close around a panicking torso.

It’s a boy. The face is one Jean loves—he doesn’t quite know how, but he _knows_ —and waits for a scream that never comes. Instead, a gaping mouth that colors the air with former life and viscera of another about to join the ranks of those lost too soon.

Jean screams in the boy’s stead, the sound of his own voice translating into a silent, but no less embarrassing jolt from an old desk chair.

He’s left encumbered in neon derision, but his surrounding classmates don’t seem to notice that he’s any worse for wear. It’s a deep breath and the slow tap of a pen against his textbook for Jean, as he tries to blend in whilst trying to shirk off the terror of his dreams.

His façade works well enough, until he begins to feel a set of eyes engaging the back of his head, and he begins to worry over the inconsistent rise and fall of his shoulders. It’s a fluke for him to pinpoint it right the first time, and he’s left crimson-faced and annoyed at the sight of the boy leaning across his desk on the other side of the room.

Marco Bodt.

Jean knows him only by name, but in no way by word or reputation. He’s left not knowing what to think of the discreet but knowing expression across the guy’s face, or why it is he leans so curiously over top of the desk.

Marco nods, the gesture barely noticeable, but duly noted as being some strange kind of sullen empathy that Jean feels he should know nothing about. He nods back, and Marco gives him a wane little smile before turning his attention back toward the front of the room.

It isn’t long before Jean is looking toward the window; it’s panes unbroken and warm from the afternoon sun. There’s more to it than that, however, and Jean is left wanting an explanation for his sudden shudder of relief when he catches Marco’s reflection in the window, his chest welling merely for the fact that _he is there_.


End file.
